


Your Only Friend

by Louis_anna



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Depictions of a dead body, Dream's mentally unstable, Gen, Honestly I just wanted to write about Dream cry-laughing, I am not a Dream apologist, Sam's there very briefly, Tommy's gone crab rave, but in a manic way, do not ship them either, it's Tommy's, kind of a Dream character study?, seriously tho his death made me cry, this is based on the characters not the creator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29914518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louis_anna/pseuds/Louis_anna
Summary: “That was fun,” he rubbed his knuckles. They were cut and bruised. They bled profusely, staining the obsidian, though you could barely see with how dark the material was. “Right, Tommy?”or,Tommy's dead, but is that what he really wanted?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 64





	Your Only Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Ignore canon for a second and pretend that Dream didn't kill Tommy to prove a point.
> 
> Criticism is very much appreciated!  
> Enjoy!!
> 
> tw/ blood, death, violence, Dream in general  
> all of it's mild, but still.

It wasn’t quick, but to him it was only a couple of seconds.  _ That’s what happens when you have fun. _

He sat back, feet tucked under his bum and hands going limp at his sides. He wiped the sweat off his brow and sighed. He felt light, like a heavy weight had just been lifted.

A chuckle escaped his lips, bruised and chapped from all the times he’d spent chewing them raw.

“That was fun,” he rubbed his knuckles. They were cut and bruised. They bled profusely, staining the obsidian, though you could barely see with how dark the material was. “Right, Tommy?”

He looked up from his knuckles, staring at the boy underneath him. Tommy stayed still, something he couldn’t fathom the annoying bastard ever doing.  _ It doesn’t matter _ , he mused,  _ as long as he quit his yapping. _

“Tommy?” he leaned forward, reaching up to brush the hair out of the boy’s face. He found the task a bit difficult. The blond of his hair had turned a brown-ish color, stained by the blood still trickling down his face. It pooled around his head in a sort of halo. How did one boy have so much blood? It made the man hum a sort of tune, lost in thought as he continued to stare at the red; it shined, though it was rather dull from the black of the obsidian soaking the color.

He shook his head, ridding of any other distractions and went back to combing Tommy’s hair. His hair was matted, laced with dried blood and mashed potato. It stuck to the kid's forehead, and if he tugged too hard it would easily fall out.

He pulled his hand back, fingers stained with the boy’s blood. It dripped into the ever growing puddle, sending a rhythm into the silence. His hand went to Tommy’s arm, grip tight as to not let it slip. He shook his arm.

“Tommy,” he tried again, harsher this time, “Stop playing. Get up.” He shook Tommy harder, body rocking back and forth until he finally landed on his back, head lulling to look up at the ceiling.

“Oh- Tommy,” he grabbed at the boy’s face, a hand on each cheek. They were filthy--dirt, dust, potato, and blood still dripping from some kind of head wound he couldn’t identify. He stared into Tommy’s eyes, half-lidded, unblinking, shining from unshed tears that stuck to his blood-clotted eyelashes.

“Tommy,” he repeated, chest growing tight. His hands mirrored this, and Tommy’s face squished in his grip. “Tommy, the game’s over,” he growled. Anger consumed him, and he threatened Tommy again. He was the one in power, listen to him damn it!

Tommy laid still. He saw no kind of movement. No flinch, no blink, no intake of breath. He dropped Tommy’s head in a fit of anger. Tommy hit the ground, bouncing up once before rolling to the side and stopping. He leaned back, sat on his heels and stared at the boy, unblinking, face blank.

“Oh come on,” he breathed out, “I’m your only friend, Tommy. You wouldn’t leave me.”

Tommy didn’t respond.

A silence hit the small room. He couldn’t hear the lava rushing beside him, couldn’t hear the steady drip of blood, couldn’t hear his own ragged breath.

He took a sharp, painful breath in, and burst into a fit of laughter.

Short gasps of air, raspy wheezes, loud and nonstop. It hurt his own ears.

“Oh, Tommy!” he laughed out, head rocking back and hands scrambling to grip the boy’s hoodie--once white, now red. “Tommy- I was your only friend, Tommy! Tommy- You can’t leave me Tommy!”

He rambled on, shaking his head, the laughter not stopping.

Then the tears came. Salty, fat tears streamed down his face and onto Tommy's still body. He gasped out, and the tears came faster. They didn’t stop, they never stopped. His laugh became shaky, more frantic, more incessant.

  
  
  


That’s the scene Sam walked into.

“Dream,” his voice was quiet, but demanding. He repeated it, louder, but Dream still didn’t hear.

Sam had his own tears, but all he could do was stand there, by the burning lava and behind the manic Dream and Tommy's corpse. Tommy, the boy he had tried so hard to keep safe. 

He had failed. Miserably.

The laughter rang loud in Sam’s ears.


End file.
